Pencils
by Goonlalagoon
Summary: Random story about Drumknott and his rapidly diminishing supply of pencils. Set after Making Money.
1. Drumknott

**Disclaimer: Okay, hands up anyone who thinks I'm Terry Pratchett **_(Does hand count). _**No-one. Good.**

**Just re-read Making Money, and felt a little sorry for poor Drumknott and his stolen pencils. **

Pencils

He opened the desk drawer, and felt around. Eventually his fingers found one lonely pencil.

One pencil. Drumknott scowled. One pencil left, and he'd bought a new box only a few weeks ago. And they were all his. The Patrician had his own, so he hadn't taken them, and none of the staff would dare take even one. 

In fact, Drumknott knew exactly who was stealing his pencils. It was really very vexing. Moist von Lipwig, ex-crook, had recently been summoned to the palace for many last-minute appointments, which he was usually the last to hear about. First it was that University anniversary stamp (politics); then the problem with the new paper dollar (forgery); the golem stamp (foreign politics); the next problem with the paper dollar (forgery); the Librarian getting very annoyed over a new stamp, after people started sending him letters with the orangutan stamp on saying "Hello Mr. Monkey." (Librarian politics); that problem with the ten dollar note (Inadvisably applied magic. And forgery.) The list went on. And every meeting needed something signing, or noting down. In short, needed a pencil. 

And he never gave the damn pencil back! Every time, Lipwig walked out of the palace with one of Drumknott's pencils. The man even took them when Drumknott tied a piece of cotton around one, and held the other end! 

And he couldn't complain, because Vetinari liked it. He used it as a way of checking that Lipwig still had his criminal mind, and it hadn't been locked down by chains of gold-ish. 

Drumknott sighed, and sent someone to buy him fifty new pencils. He wondered how long they'd last. Opening his copy of the Times, he read a short article about the latest banknote forgery, glanced at the new stamp; 'Send the experience of a home-baked dwarf croissant to your cherished children living far from the family mine!' and closely examined the political cartoon.

By the look of things, he mused, the new order should last around a month. 


	2. Moist

**Disclaimer: Hands up again. **_(Recounts hands.) _**Right. We've established that I'm not Terry Pratchett. Again.**

**A couple of people asked if I could add to Pencils, so I've decided to do a second chapter in Moist's POV.**

* * *

Moist examined the pencil. He prodded it. It rolled, in the usual way of pencils. He picked it up, and wrote something with it. It wrote in dark grey lead.

It was, in fact, an ordinary pencil. He was quite sure of that. He was also quite sure that the other pencils were ordinary pencils.

What he _wasn't _sure of was where the damn things were coming from.

He hadn't noticed at first. After all, a pencil is, in essence, a pencil. Nothing more, nothing less. So it wasn't particularly strange that there were some lying around. They were a useful writing implement.

But, unless he was missing something important, you shouldn't mysteriously have what added up to a packet of pencils _in your pockets._

Moist was very sure of this. He was certain, in fact, that if pencils were in the habit of appearing in pockets, someone would've told him.

"Maybe they just grow?" He mused out loud, and winced. No. He didn't know where they were coming from, but he was fairly sure that they didn't grow in his pocket.

"Mr. Lipwig?"

Moist glanced up at the worried looking employee. He pushed musings on the mysterious pencil discoveries to the back of his mind.

"Hello. Jack, isn't it? What can I do for you?"

"Lord Vetinari would like to see you. At the palace."

Moist blinked, and looked at the paper open on the desk under the collection of pencils. Oh no…

"He says you have an appointment…" Moist sighed.

"An appointment right now, I assume."

"No sir." Moist blinked. Could it be? An appointment he knew about before he ended up in it….? "He said the appointment was right away _ten minutes ago_. Sorry, sir, but the hallway was blocked, and…"

Moist wasn't listening. He'd kept Vetinari waiting for ten whole minutes. He threw on his jacket, paused, and pulled a pencil out of the pocket. He hesitated a moment, wondering why it had a piece of cotton around it, then added it to the pile on the desk and ran to the palace.

When a exhausted Moist returned from the meeting with Vetinari, he was completely bewildered as to why he had yet another pencil in his pocket, or why it had a length of wire attached. He removed the wire, then sat staring at the pencils for a moment. Moist shrugged, picked up one of them, and entered the wonderful world of Administration.

They were, he thought, very good pencils.


End file.
